


Remember Me, I Sing

by Flammenkobold



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Blood Magic, Gen, Grizzop Lives, Magic, Resurrection, Singing, Wilde is a powerful bard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 06:01:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23846404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flammenkobold/pseuds/Flammenkobold
Summary: When Wilde casts spells he sings them quietly under his breath, sometimes so softly even Zolf can’t hear the songs standing next to him.This is not how Wilde sings now.
Relationships: Grizzop drik Acht Amsterdam & Oscar Wilde
Comments: 8
Kudos: 61
Collections: Rusty Quill Gaming Exchange 2020





	Remember Me, I Sing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [areyouokaypanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyouokaypanda/gifts).



When Wilde casts spells he sings them quietly under his breath, sometimes so softly even Zolf can’t hear them standing next to him. He’s trained well in keeping his talent hidden, to weaponize it if need be. Zolf has seen him fight several times before and has seen him cast spells even more. He knows how Wilde goes about it. Quietly and focused and with precision.

This is not how he sings now.

His voice rises and falls, completely unrestrained, filling the cavern beneath Cairo, echoing from the walls, lacing each note through the next one. His voice crashes against the jagged rock of the ceiling, like waves on a cliff.

Like waves in a storm his voice drowns out everything else. There is no room here for anything else - no matter how enormous the underground dragon lair is. Zolf feels too small and like he takes up too much space at the same time, like he should make room for more of Wilde’s voice, like he should step out of this world, just so that his notes have more space to fill.

But they are here for the exact opposite. This is about returning life, about repaying a debt, and Wilde gives it all he’s got to do so.

The Meritocrats banned this ritual after the fall of Rome - like so many others. But the Meritocrats are not in power anymore, and Apophis has given them his blessing for this one. Zolf isn’t sure if Apophis believes Wilde can do this or if he just wants to humour Hamid’s request. 

There is nothing humorous about this now.

The song Wilde sings is _old_ , older than Rome, older than the Gods perhaps. It tugs at a primordial part of Zolf’s brain, aching and bittersweet. A song of lament and a song of hope and of sheer will.

It swirls around the cavern like a gale and in the center of it stands Wilde. Guiding the music to where he wants it to go, coaxing out the power of even the tiniest mote of magic.

Zolf is aware of all the enemies Wilde has made along the way, knows that several people want him dead, if they can’t make use of him. Until now he thought it was because of his connections within both the meritocratic forces and the Harlequins. Now he wonders if there is more to it.

Unrestrained, Wilde’s voice could bring down entire armies, could break down defences and inspire courage in the hearts of the most cowardly. Right now it breaks down the barrier between death and life.

At the height of his song he takes the remnants of an old arrow from Rome. It came with a letter, hidden away in the deepest vault of the Tahan bank. After all these years it is still sharp. When Wilde draws it through his hand, it splits open the skin easily coating it in blood, turning it into a conduit. The notes of his song zero in on it and slam into it like lightning. It glows brighter and brighter, cold moonlight illuminating the entire cavern until Zolf has to turn his head away.

When Zolf can finally look at Wilde again, the arrow has crumbled into dust, the remnants swirling around him, joining the notes of his song before settling on the ashes on the floor, undisturbed by the storm Wilde is singing up.

Zolf watches as the ashes shift and move and knit themselves together to sinew and bone. Each of Wilde’s notes adding another layer of living matter until the body is fully restored.

The last note of Wilde’s song reverberates through the room and when it dies down, Grizzop drik Acht Amsterdam draws in a breath.

The first thing he utters is a weak and confused, “What?”

This is his cue, this is why Zolf is here. He rushes over, kneels down next to Grizzop, who looks at him bewildered and flinches back the moment Zolf nears, too weak yet to get away.

“It’s okay, I’m here to help, just - please. I’m with Hamid and Azu.” Zolf says, keeps his voice low and kind and Grizzop’s wild eyes fix on him, but when Zolf lays a hand on his sinewy arms he doesn’t flinch again.

Zolf casts his own healing spells, checks Grizzop over quickly, but he seems to be in perfect health for someone who has been dead for two thousand years.

“What?” Grizzop repeats again, his eyes and voice clearer now.

Wilde grins down at him, magic still crackling over his lips, teeth bared. “Sasha sends her regards.”


End file.
